


Take a seat

by electricblueninja



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: A reunion piece.





	Take a seat

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://ibb.co/eqrA2p)   
> 

_He's home._

 

The thought had been a recurring one for Donghae that morning, and each time he caught himself thinking it, it felt slightly more ridiculous, but no less wondrous.

 

He'd felt the same way every rare weekend Ryeowook had been able to come home for a visit. But those weekends had been few and far between. He was home for good, now, and Donghae just couldn't quite get his head around the permanence of it.

 

_He's home._

 

Donghae had been working late the night before. He'd had a million and one things to get done before these two short days of liberty. It had been past eleven when he'd finally staggered through the door. But Ryeowook had only gotten back later still. At around 11:30, he'd texted to say that the bus had gotten a flat tyre on the way back up to Seoul, and it was not till the early hours of the morning that, through the fog of sleep, Donghae had heard the apartment door open and close, and the distant thump of shoes hitting the floor, and a little while later felt the mattress shift under Ryeowook's weight—both familiar and unfamiliar—as he joined him in bed.

 

_He's home._

 

It was morning, now, but Ryeowook had not stirred.

 

Donghae, on the other hand, had been awake for about an hour, but hadn't been able to bring himself to get out of bed yet. He'd just been lying there, tracing the contours of his lover's sleeping face with his eyes.

 

_You're home._

 

Unable to help himself, he reached out to rest his hand against Ryeowook's cheek, and in his sleep, Ryeowook reached up to place his hand on top of Donghae's, pressing his face more closely into Donghae's palm. He smiled faintly, and murmured something meaningless, which prickled at Donghae's heart in much the same way Ryeowook's faint stubble prickled his skin.

 

It had been so long since he’d had woken up with Ryeowook beside him.

 

He took a deep breath, savouring the moments before Ryeowook released his hand.

 

He had missed this. These tiny moments.

 

Domesticity.

 

Bliss.

 

Ryeowook had come to bed in a singlet that scooped deeply at the neck, revealing smooth skin and, below the still-sharp line of his clavicle, an expanse of muscle that had built up steadily over the past two years. But Donghae only saw Ryeowook every few months if he was lucky, and so each time they were reunited he marvelled at Ryeowook's increased strength, and the confidence and self-possession that emerged with it.

 

He rested the fingers of one hand idly against Ryeowook's now-muscular bicep, and studied the differences in the younger man's features.

 

Ryeowook looked barely a day older than he had when he enlisted. Despite his best efforts and an extensive skincare collection, Donghae was the one showing greater signs of stepping into his thirties. Tiny lines appeared around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, no matter how hard he fought to keep them at bay.

 

Still, Ryeowook seemed more...mature, somehow; grounded; steady. Which evoked Donghae’s pride and lust in equal measure.

 

Reluctantly, he allowed his gaze to slide from Ryeowook’s face to the clock on the bedside table.

 

It was almost ten: no wonder he was beginning to feel symptoms of hunger, and a powerful craving for coffee.

 

He rolled out of bed and into his slippers, shuffling through the door to their combined kitchen, dining and living area. It was a smallish apartment, but really, in Seoul, city of tiny boarding houses and square-metre _gosiwon_ , the fact that they had managed to upgrade from their first tiny one-room rental to a rental with _rooms,_  plural, was a luxury.

 

He was slumped over the bench, literally watching the coffee brew, when he heard Ryeowook enter the room, bare feet padding softly across the floor. He didn’t say anything, but came wordlessly to stand behind Donghae, wrapped his arms gently around his waist, and buried his face into the hair that tumbled untidily down the back of Donghae’s neck.

 

A breath in; a breath out.

 

Safety.

 

Peace.

 

‘You’re home,’ said Donghae, softly.

 

Ryeowook smiled against his skin, and murmured his agreement. ‘Mmm.’

 

Donghae twisted in his arms and leaned back against the bench, so that they stood nose-to-nose.

 

‘I barely noticed you were gone,’ he said slyly.

 

Ryeowook, once so easy to provoke, knew he was being needled. He arched his eyebrows and lifted his chin, his lips parting in a manner both artless and sensuous.

 

‘You've noticed I'm back, though, it seems,’ he replied, his gaze dropping meaningfully between them.

 

Donghae felt himself colour: partly because Ryeowook was right, and partly because he had not expected quite such a resounding defeat in their first round of verbal sparring.

 

He was out of practice.

 

‘I wake up like this everyday,’ he muttered defensively, but it was a weak riposte, and he felt his ears reddening even more as he realised the stupidity of what he was actually saying.

 

Ryeowook, smirking, looked as though he had a retort ready to go, but Donghae cut him off.

 

‘Coffee?’ he blurted, spinning back to face the bench, ‘It's almost ready.’

 

Ryeowook made a little sound of agreement, and pad-padded over to their dining table.

 

Donghae filled their cups with the hot, strong, nightblack coffee and calmed himself with the milk-and-sugar ritual. 3 sugars and cream for Ryeowook; 2 sugars for himself. The soothing sight of the pale sugar dissolving into the steaming, bitter darkness of the drink gave him the chance to compose himself, and he had recovered his equilibrium by the time he took the coffees to the table and sat down, though the peculiar discombobulation of having something--someone--deeply familiar returned to him was lingering.

 

Having Ryeowook sitting across the table reaching for a coffee cup was so...normal. It was an image Donghae had seen hundreds of times, but a conspicuous absence for the past hundred days, bar two, and the past hundred days before that…

 

‘I'm glad you're home,’ he said. Shyly, though he was not sure why.

 

Ryeowook was sipping his coffee, but the way his eyes folded lightly at the corners revealed his smile. He finished a long pull of his drink, then set the cup down.

 

‘Me too.’

 

‘I...hardly know what to say to you, now that you're here.’

 

Another eye smile. ‘What did you want to say while I was away, then?’

 

Donghae shrugged, and dropped his gaze. ‘Dunno.’

 

He watched Ryeowook's chest rising and falling in his peripheral vision. The fabric of Ryeowook's singlet rustled a little as he lifted his cup again, but he spoke instead of drinking.

 

‘You didn't get rid of any of these horrible chairs.’

 

Donghae smiled involuntarily at Ryeowook's tone of mild disapproval. Ryeowook had always hated their mismatched dining set. Donghae liked it: to him, it was the perfect metaphor for the collision of their lives, and their wildly different personalities. Nothing really went with anything else, but it was the contrasts of shape and colour that seemed to make it work when it was all in one place.

 

‘We could at least get matching seat cushions for them,’ Ryeowook chided, and Donghae knew without looking that he was making the Annoyed Ahjumma face.

 

He shrugged. ‘I guess.’

 

They lapsed into an idle silence.

 

Donghae returned to staring at Ryeowook's face, mindlessly worrying his lip with his teeth as his mind slowly filled to overflowing with thoughts and memories of what it was like to be with Ryeowook--to actually _be_ with him. To actually be _with_ him.

 

And then, just like that, Donghae was on his feet and around the table, and his mouth covered Ryeowook's mouth, and Ryeowook's coffee cup just barely made it back onto the table before he was across Ryeowook's lap, hands either side of his face, kissing him like he wanted to steal Ryeowook's soul from his lips (and maybe he did). His fingers sought in vain for purchase in Ryeowook's cropped hair; slipped to his neck, then to his shoulders, while Ryeowook's palms slid in a slow, natural way around his hips; over the top of his ass; up either side of his spine, taking his shirt up with them.

 

After that, the search for skin was immediate and mindless--Donghae’s shirt was on the floor in seconds.

 

Ryeowook's mouth was every bit as soft and warm as he remembered, but the passage of time had built a wall between them, and their kisses were unsynchronised and awkward until their lips slowly remembered the push and pull of their natural tides. Yes: balance restored. Ryeowook's lips traced searching along Donghae's jawline, and down his throat; soft, unspoken questions, to which Donghae gave soft, spoken answers: ‘Yes--please--yes.’

 

He could feel Ryeowook's dick hardening beneath him, and his whole body answered without hesitation: his heart pounding so hard that his very vision began to tremble. He tried to press closer; the fabric between them was thin; stretching, pulling, creating friction against Donghae's skin; giving him gooseflesh, and making his belly twist and turn like kindling over a flame.

 

‘You're overdressed,’ he murmured, pulling his head back.

 

Ryeowook answered with his hands; his fingers taking full and hearty hold of Donghae's glutes and squeezing firmly. Donghae’s only impressionistic thought was of the way store-holders and street vendors tested their market produce; of fingers holding tightly to ripe flesh; of the soft, downy surface of peaches, or late persimmons, jewel-bright surfaces glistening as a thumb pressed into their pliant skin…

 

Ryeowook's teeth grazed his collarbone, and he shuddered, his fingers tightening reflexively on Ryeowook's shoulders. The little sound he made bordered on disgraceful, but there wasn't much he could do about that--it was out now. Ryeowook hummed a laugh against his chest when he did it, and pulled his mouth away from Donghae's flesh enough to say, ‘It's almost like you missed me.’

 

He slid one hand between Donghae's thighs: not squeezing _or_ stroking, but something in between--something that was not enough of anything.

 

Donghae cursed under his breath, and fixed Ryeowook with what was _supposed_ to be an icy stare, but Ryeowook just lifted his eyebrows and smiled, and Donghae was reduced to pouting.

 

‘Don't,’ he said, a little pathetically.

 

Ryeowook smirked. ‘Don't what?’

 

‘Don't do that.’

 

‘Don't what? Touch you?’

 

‘Get stuffed.’

 

Ryeowook leaned in and spoke against his ear. ‘Not _quite_ what I was thinking. Close, though.’ And because of how they were seated, Donghae had a very clear idea of what Ryeowook was actually thinking. His petulance was rapidly evaporating, because Ryeowook was, uh, making a good point. So to speak. So, instead of throwing a tantrum, Donghae pulled himself awkwardly off of Ryeowook’s lap, stomped irritably into the bedroom, and returned to the dining room to wordlessly hand over the little bottle.

 

Ryeowook took it, registered what it was, and smiled smugly. ‘Well, then.’

 

‘Shut up.’

 

‘You don't want me to tell you how much I want you?’

 

Donghae tried to hide the hot pink flush that flooded his face by looking at the floor while he slipped out of his pants. ‘I already know.’

 

‘Do you, though?’

 

It was always the voice that really got him. Not the words, but the voice: rich and bright and heavy and thick like golden syrup.

 

‘I've really missed you, hyung.’

 

Donghae swung himself back over Ryeowook's lap. Poised above him, he reached down, unbuttoning Ryeowook's pyjama pants with fumbling, clumsy fingers; feeling the heat and the firmness of Ryeowook’s body beneath the thin cloth. Then, he pressed his cheek to Ryeowook's temple, and returned his hands to his lover's cropped hair; holding, stroking his fingers through the coarse strands as the younger man obligingly popped the lid and slicked himself up; knuckles brushing and bumping against the naked skin of Donghae's inner thighs.

 

Ryeowook pressed a chaste kiss against Donghae's throat, his soft, coaxing moan and the rearrangement of his hands guiding Donghae to lower himself down, which he did, slowly and carefully.

 

He groaned softly as the head of Ryeowook’s cock slipped inside of him. It had been a long time since the last time, and his body took its time adjusting, but could not argue with his weight. His breathing and his heartrate were increasing, along with his own arousal; Ryeowook's teeth and tongue found purchase on the most vulnerable part of his throat, and he felt his body open, sliding further down the shaft of Ryeowook’s cock. Ryeowook, in response, pushed upwards, bracing against the sturdy wooden chair frame, his hips undulating with slow, consistent pressure and force.

 

It was a gentler and far less athletic reunion than the one Donghae had envisioned, but it felt deeply right. Emphasis on deep. Ryeowook was filling him up; reclaiming the very core of his being. Donghae, riding him, had control over just how much he wanted to take--but the answer to that was “all”, over and over, deeper and deeper, until he felt...he felt... _replete._ Their bodies eventually found a rhythm--some delicate balance of friction and compromise _\--_ and it was then that Ryeowook began to fuck him in earnest; buried deep in his core; their hands clutching at each other and their lips bare millimetres apart and the beads of sweat forming on their skin, despite the cool morning air--Ryeowook fucked him until his veins ran with fire, and his insides danced and curled, a visceral sensation that built up right until it erupted into an unmistakable signature that he painted across Ryeowook's shirtfront; a gesture mirrored a few minutes later in a hot, wet flood in Donghae's insides.

 

Then, a return to stillness, and safety, and peace: Ryeowook's arms looping gently around his waist, holding him close and extending a long moment of damp, dirty intimacy as far into the future as either of them really cared to think about.

 

_You're home._


End file.
